Leech drawn,

Blood drunk,

My life,

Old junk.

i don't remember the second name of the girl i first loved.
nor do i remember the colour of her eyes.
i don't remember what it was that made me fall so hard for her,
or what her first words were to me.
i don't remember how she smells or what brand of cigarettes she smoked or how her hair felt beneath my fingertips.
or how her lips tasted in the morning
or what we spent long nights arguing about.
i don't remember these things when i'm surrounded by newer, better people; or when i'm drinking coffee on a Sunday mornings.

but ever so often the world goes quiet and the newer people disappear into the outside world and i remember it all.
i wish i didn't, but i do.

They tell us

When things go wrong

Pray

If you want change

Protest

Then they **** more of us

And we cry more

How much blood is enough

Are the profit made from guns

Worth the holes

We dig for our sons

Am crying tears

Because in 2016

We are still not free

And it hurts

Am tired of crying

Enough is Enough

i
don't
know how
i'm being
screamed at by silence.
i don't know what these rooms are for-
filled with ghosts and curtains that will never stop haunting.
i watch these stacked rooms from afar as we drive home. a wraith whispers light into their ears.

Oh let me sink to the depths of sleep
Where no birds sing and no bugs creep

Let me drift through that endless ocean
Feeling neither pain nor emotion

Let me tumble through that abyss
Craving neither wealth nor a kiss

To sweet oblivion let me sink
Where I still breathe but do not think

Where eons pass like before I was born
And there is neither approval nor scorn

Oh let me to the womb return
Where all my knowledge I'll unlearn

Please let me like the sunset fade
To where I was before I was made

My Aura
deep the heart of Pandora.
thick.
shimmering thoughts make me shiver.
Pandora.
my mind is occupied by irrelevant thoughts;
"What time do I need to wake up tomorrow?"
but I don't trust my own body
this is why I live in sorrow.
I created a machine called technology, this was meant to work for me but now... I follow?

I deny.
The fact that I push my freedom away because I'm too used to following.
I deny.
to follow the hypocrisy influenced by society when the minority is sober.

I busted my ******* hand and it wasn't because we fought -
Only because I couldn't handle the manifestation of my paranoia.
Now it hurts when I wipe my *** or lift my dog, meniality becoming a master task.
A reflection of me that isn't me passes by with a strong stewed vegetable smell. My dark green sweatshirt rigged into the main grid of the city; its fibres and style backstreets and pulsing.
Not like I don't recollect who I am anymore after never knowing - visions of a man's head being crushed under train wheels giant and rusted foaming and screeching with primal rage, confettied brain matter explodes like a firework across blackened earth; children will investigate the remains with sticks.